“Well, it’s jest this way, Miss Ca’line, they is sets in the colored folks jest like they is in the white folks.  We is the it set, me and Tempie and Eph and all the fust family people.  We’s got our lawyers and dentists and a university and a ice-cream parlor with the swellest kinder soda fount in front.  You heard how Mister David got that Country Club for us, didn’t you?  Well, he backed the rent notes of the soda fount, too—­and he’s jest naterly the fust set candidate fer anything he wants ter be.”

“Isn’t he just the kindest best man, Jeff?” asked Caroline Darrah, in her enthusiasm sacrificing a frosted muffin cake between her clasped hands.

“Yes’m, he am that fer a fact, and they can’t no low-down whisky bum beat him fer jedge, neither—­’specially ef they count on using niggers to do it with.  You see the race am so mighty close, that all the booze bosses is a telling the niggers that they is got the ‘ballunce uf power’ as they calls it and it’s up ter them ter elect a jedge fer whisky, the friend ’at’ll let ’em drink it down.  Why, they’s got out a bottle of whisky as has on the label ‘Your Colored Friend’, and it’s put up in clear glass and at the bottom you can see five new dimes a-shining.  A nigger gits the bottle and the fifty cents ef he votes with them.  Old Booze is flinging money right and left, fer if Mister David gits in he’ll shore have ter git out.”

“That is perfectly awful, Jeff!” exclaimed Caroline with horror-stricken eyes.  “The poor people made to sell themselves that way—­and the whole city to lose David, a good judge, because they can’t know what they do.  It is horrible and nobody can help it!”

“I ain’t so sure about that, Miss Ca’line!  Me and Tempie and Doctor Pike Johnson and the dentist and Bud Simms, the man what runs the Palms, have thought up a scheme ef we kin work it.  You see they ain’t a nigger from Black Bottom to Mount Nebo as wouldn’t sell his soul ter git ter the Country Club and say he’s been invited there.  Now, we thought as how it would be a good plan ter give it out that we was going to have er David Kildare jedge celebration out there and have invertation tickets printed.  Then we could go ter the polls and fight down any dollar bottle of whisky ever put up with one of them invites—­every man ter bring a lady, and dancing down in a corner of the card.  We’d scotch them by saying no ’lection, no dance, so they’ll vote straight.  Ain’t that the swell scheme?  It’ll work if we can make it go.”

“Jeff,” she exclaimed, “that is a perfectly splendid idea!  You must do it, for offering them fun will be no bribery like whisky and money—­it will do them good.”  Sometimes it is just as well that a woman be not too well versed in the science logical.

“Yes’m, and I believe it will work—­ef we jest had a barbecue to put down in the other corner opposite the dancing I know it would draw ’em, but ice-cream will be about all we can git fer the subscription money, and cold as it is ice-cream won’t be no drawing card.”